Constantine: A Long Way Down
by GoAskAlice137
Summary: John Constantine. Exorcist. Demonologist. Petty Dabbler of the Dark Arts. His name is known throughout the world of the occult. So, what happens when he crosses paths with a Hell-spawn half-breed who seems to be holding a nasty grudge? When the rising darkness forces them together, how will he, Zed, and Chas fair with their powerful new ally? Or will she be the end of them all? R&R
1. Prologue

**Constantine: Long Way Down**

Prologue:

Blood. The whole place reeked of it.

Quinn wrinkled his noise as he threw the heavy doors to the old church open and stepped inside, glancing around coolly at the bodies strewed about on the rotting wooden floor. "Well," He said with flatly, turning towards the defiled pulpit with a grimace, "it looks like someone had a fun day at work."

Helena grinned at him from her place on the altar, reclining back on the stained black cloth with a lollipop stuck between her teeth. His eyes could not help but linger on the pearly white, overly prominent canines as she pulled the cherry flavored sucker from between her scarlet lips with a satisfied 'pop'. She waved it about and pointed it at him, the moist tip glinting in the flickering candle light. "What can I say," She purred, her wild locks cascading off the edge of the table, "I like helping Karma level the playing field."

"Is that what you call it?" Quinn quirked his dark brow as he gingerly stepped over the corpse at his feet. "Never really thought about it like that. What's with the _Blow Pop_?"

"I quit smoking."

"So," He chuckled darkly, "instead of lung cancer, you're just going to rot the teeth out of your head? Smart."

Helena rolled her eyes, twirling the sucker on her tongue, wishing it were a cigarette. "Cut the 'holier than thou' bull, will ya?" She sat up, piercing at him with her razor sharp, jewel toned eyes, "I swear, you Nephilim are insufferable."

"Yes," Quinn sighed, running his fingers through his dark, curly hair, "because you Hell spawn are so much easier to get along with."

"Well," Helena chirped, siding off the platform and swinging her hips as she strode towards him, "I would say so." She wrapped her elegant fingers into his shirt, smiling ruthlessly up at him, "At least, we Hell spawn know what we are. And we don't go playing at being anything else."

"Really?" He bent his neck forward, locking his brown eyes with hers, "Then what are you doing playing hero?"

"My father may have been a demon," She hissed at him, "But, I do still have a soul." She shoved him back gently, "The girl's locked herself in the basement. You'll need to use that charm of yours on her to get her out. She's convinced I'm the monster they were about to sacrifice her to."

Quinn glanced around at the half dozen, mutilated cadavers again, "Well, I can't imagine why."

Helena shrugged her shoulders, blonde strands of silk bouncing around her cheekbones, "Like I said, I don't play at being anything else than what I am."

She turned away from him, looking up at the rotting goat's head that had replaced the head of Christ in the cross. She sighed, "Do you think they get it?"

"Who gets what?" Quinn asked, not at all paying attention to what she was doing. He was too busy examining the body of the high priest that was smoldering at the foot of the stares; skin charred black, eye sockets empty, mouth open in a silent scream.

"Do you think they understand it?" Helena elaborated, "I mean, do you think they really know what they're doing? Who they're really sacrificing to?"

Quinn didn't look up from the burnt corpse, "I doubt it. If they did… I mean, if they knew the consequences going in? I doubt anyone would worship _them_." He sighed heavily, pinching his noise. Why do burning bodies always smell like smoked pork? "Did you have to burn this one?"

Helena's eyes lit up as she looked at him, the deep tones sparking to life like brilliant embers. "No."

"Right." Quinn turned away from the priest, falling in step beside Helena as she moved swiftly towards the doors.

Outside, the night was cold and dark. It was a new moon tonight, and what little light the stars gave off was obscured by building storm clouds. Helena turned into the wind, towards the graveyard, knowing that taking the main road tonight would not be the brightest of ideas, dark or no. Quinn stayed on her heels until she reached the iron barrier around the tombstones. "Aren't you forgetting something?" She asked icily as she turned to face him, raising her fine brow in query.

Quinn shook his head, "No. I'll get to her in a minute."

He continued to grin stupidly at her, and after a few moments of silence she could not take it anymore. "What?" She snapped at him angrily.

His grin widened, "You are so easy."

"Shut up." She turned to leave him, but he grabbed her hand.

"No, seriously…" He pulled her back, "_I found it._"

She stopped mid stride, staring at him with wide eyes. "You found it?"

"Yeah," He breathed, "We found it, Helena."

Helena could not believe what she was hearing. Her heart began to race and her breathing quickened. "We found it?" She repeated breathlessly. "Wha—? How? Where? Where is it?"

"That PI Jake found, he came though." Quinn responded animatedly, "He tracked it down to an auction house in London—"

"London? Well, we got to go…We need to go now!"

She made to pull away from him again, but he held on to her. "No, no." Quinn laughed nervously, "The book is not in London anymore."

"But, you just said—!"

"Let me finish." He pushed. "He tracked it to an auction house in London, where it was sold two years ago."

"Two years ago? How does that help us?" Helena demanded heatedly. Quinn could feel the skin on his palm begin to burn and he quickly released her.

"I'm getting to that!" He exclaimed, shaking his hand in pain. "It helps us, because of who bought it. Jasper Winters."

"Jasper Winters?" She narrowed her eyes. "The psychic?"

"Yeah."

"I heard he was dead."

"He is." Quinn confirmed with a nod. "He died a year ago, during an exorcism in Newcastle, England."

"Okay, you've lost me again." She sighed deeply, "If he's dead, how do you know if he still has the book? And, what was Jasper Winters doing at an exorcism, anyway?" Helena added quickly, her brow furrowed, "I mean the guy was supposedly a grade-A occultist, but he wasn't an exorcist as far as I know."

Quinn looked suddenly uncomfortable. He coughed nervously, "Yeah… See, that's why we might know where the book is. Or, Jake thinks you might know where it is, actually." He went very quiet, like he was avoiding something.

"Quinn," She asked softly, dread spreading through her, "who was the exorcist?"

Quinn refused to look at her.

"Quinn?"

He let out the breath he had been holding, "John Constantine."

"Constantine!" Helena's heart plummeted into her stomach and she felt abruptly sick. She turned away from Quinn, so that he could not see the many emotions playing on her face. She clamped her hands together to keep them from shaking. "Jasper Winters…" She heaved, "He was Constantine's mentor."

"Yeah." Quinn breathed, "We know that Winters had a vault. A magical safe house, somewhere. We think he would've taken the book there. And, well, Jake…He thinks that you might know where it is. He thinks, maybe, that Constantine took you there. You know… _Before_."

"Yeah," Helena swallowed thickly, digging her nails into her skin, "Yeah, I know where it is."

Quinn nodded slowly, "I know you have a history…If you want, you could just tell me where…"

"No!" Helena snapped, more forcefully than necessary, "No, it's ancient history. Ten years worth. I'll get it. Tell Jake, I'll finish it. All of it."

"You're sure?" Quinn looked at her with eyes full of worry, "Helena, you don't have to."

"Yes." Helena corrected him, "Yes, I do." She looked down at her hands, biting at her lip, "Do you know where he is? Constantine?"

"Yeah." Quinn nodded, finally able to give her good news again, "Word is, Constantine had himself locked up in the loony bin. Whatever happened in Newcastle… It must have been bad." He sighed, resting his hand on her shoulder reassuringly, "That means all you got to do is go in, get the book, and get out. Easy as pie."

Helena shook her head pitifully. "Things are never that easy. Especially, when John Constantine is involved."


	2. Chapter 1

**Constantine: A Long Way Down**

Chapter 1:

Wide blue eyes.

Helena bolted upright in her makeshift cot with the wide blue eyes of ten year old Tommy McCauley blinding her mind's eye; pleading, confused, and wide as saucers. Horrified. Those eyes haunted her more than any demon ever could, or ever would. Every time she allowed herself a moment of rest, she found herself back in that room with the superhero posters on the wall, illuminated by the smiling face of the Scooby-doo nightlight in the corner. She felt the knife slide into the boys' chest, his body instantly going limp as he stared up at her, grasping to understand as the light faded from behind his pupils. Hot blood spilling onto her hands as the face of the Adversary disappeared, replaced in an instant by the child's innocent one. The air suddenly filled with an ungodly wail that rose from her throat like a tempest, ripping through the silent house.

She tore the blanket from her bare legs and dropped her feet onto the rough wooden floor, forcing the memories away by focusing on the cold night air seeping through the cracks in the roof. She shivered, the icy air snaking its way up her skin. Wrapping her arms around her breasts, she stood and began to pull on her clothes.

The ride to Atlanta had been brutally long. Even with her Triumph cruising at ninety, it had taken her three days to reach Georgia. After a day of wandering the city, searching for a suitable place to stay for the next few days and convincing herself that she was not procrastinating, she had finally settled down in the attic of an abandoned Cathedral downtown.

The chapel itself was occupied by a diverse community of the city's homeless. The instant she had stepped through the doors, they parted like the Red Sea before her, hiding in the pews. They could sense what was inside her; the writhing, burning blackness that her father had passed to her upon conception, and that had festered under her skin for that last twenty four years. Most people were too self-involved to sense it, but the vagabonds and vagrants of the world were more open to things that others just refused to see. To the plus side, they would leave her be.

The attic was cold and drafty, but secluded. By sundown, she had seared protection sigils into the wood grain and barred the door and windows with salt rings. She had then made her cot and wrapped herself in a blanket, trying to force herself to sleep. But, the thought of entering that vault, and stepping back into a world she thought had been left behind ten years ago, loomed like a sword above her head. Old thoughts echoed around her skull; memories that she had tried to bury deep, clawing their way back to the surface.

"_Please." _She could hear herself begging him, her voice raw with fear and agony, _"Please John! Please don't! Don't let them take me!" _She could still feel the priests' fingers digging into her skin as her heels dug into the dirt, dragging her towards the waiting van. She could still see him standing there, his back to the mill house door, the collar of his coat pulled up against the rain. His dark eyes were focused directly on her, but he did not move.

"_Constantine!" _She had screamed at him, the cold rain turning to steam on her blistering skin, _"No! Please! Please! John! Please! I'll— I'll die! John! JOHN!" _

He had just stood there, his body ridged and his jaw clenched shut as her legs hit the mouth of the trunk, the priests heaving at her mercilessly, forcing her into the vehicle, the lid slamming shut. _"NO!" _ She had screamed like they were murdering her there and then, _"NOO! NOOO!" _

She had thrashed, and kicked, and fought like the devil she was. When she had finally managed to steal a look out the window, Constantine was no longer there.

That image of the mill house, empty, as the van had drove away was the last thing Helena saw in her mind before she had fallen to sleep, only to awake hours later to new horrors.

Helena pulled on her black and yellow riding jacket, zipping it up to her throat and buttoning the collar. She had to focus on the positives now. She had to focus on what she could do once she had that book. On how her life was about to change. All their lives were. She had a job to do.

And John Constantine could just rot in his padded room.

Downstairs, her boots echoed through the chapel loudly, the occupants cringing away as she passed. Outside, the sky had begun to lighten as she stepped out into the street. Even at this early hour, Atlanta was obnoxiously noisy. She eyed the slow moving car suspiciously as it rolled up the street, unrecognizable music blasting out of its sub-speakers. The few people on the street scurried away from it.

Helena stood her ground, watching the driver and the passenger closely as the sedan became level with her. The passenger stared right back at her and their eyes locked, and she could see it. All the evil things he had ever done. The bodies of children were piled at his feet; innocent blood had left dark stains on his soul. She heard the shots of the pistol, the rumble of the engine and the squeal of the tires. The thunder of feet and the screams of parents holding the lifeless corpses of their children under the monkey bars.

A cruel smile came to her lips as she watched him glide by. He sneered at her, reaching out the window and making a shooting gesture with his index finger. Helena's grin only widened as the car drove past. Her eyes fell to the vanity plate that read THG 4 LF, and she snorted at the overly cliché pun. She would be seeing him again soon enough, but first things first.

She strode across the street and into the alleyway, running her fingers over the large tarp draped next to the dumpster before yanking it off the waiting motorcycle in one fluid motion. She jammed the key into the ignition and swung her leg over as the Bonneville roared to life. She revved the motor a few times, slid on her yellow riding goggles with a nervous exhale, and then opened up the throttle, speeding off towards the city limits.

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